looked up, a lace between each fist. “Come round now if you like. I’ve nothing planned but a visit to the dole office.”
“I can’t right now. I’ve got to get my head down for a couple of hours. I’ve been up all night and can hardly think for foggy headedness.”
“Fair enough. This afternoon then? It’ll give me chance to have a bit of a tidy up.”
“Oh no. Don’t do that. I’ll have no idea what might be missing if you tidy everything away.” Meinwen drew her fingers across her eyes, rubbing the grit from the corners as she yawned. “Have a root about and see if you can find a clue to that money book. Then get in touch with your brother’s solicitor about his death. Do you know who he used?”
“No clue.”
“All right. There aren’t many in town so it won’t be too hard to track down. Ask the police for a release date for the body and a list of everything they removed from the house. I’d look into your brother’s insurance policies, too and make the funeral arrangements. That’s a good use of your time. Make it sooner rather than later and advertise it in the Laverstone Times. Let’s see who turns up to his funeral, shall we? It’ll give us a chance to look at the rats in their finery.”
“Aye I suppose it will at that. Do you think his lady friend will come?”
“I don’t see why not. I’d go to the funeral of a loved one who’d supposedly killed themselves.”
“You’re right. Is Oxley’s still in business?”
“I believe so. Chapelgate? Next to the butcher’s?”
“Aye. That’s the one. I’ll have a trot down there. See what the rates are.”
“As you wish. I’ll see you this afternoon. Do you have a mobile I can reach you on?”
“Surely.” Jimmy pulled out an old mobile. “Haven’t used this for a while. We’re not allowed them inside. It doesn’t work at the moment, mind. I’ve no charger for it.”
“I might have one.” Meinwen held out her hand and Jimmy gave her the phone. She went back into the house, leaving him to finish tying his laces. There was a box full of wires and rubbish in the cupboard under the stairs. She hauled it out past the vacuum cleaner and dropped it on the sideboard, shifting a couple of her landlady’s Royal Doulton figurines aside to make room. She rooted through old USB and modem cables, several plugs cut off the ends of defunct appliances, her first mobile phone from the nineties, which was roughly the size and weight of a house brick and a number of leads from assorted defunct mobiles. She pulled one out and checked the end fitted in the handset and plugged it in. It lit up straight away, allowing her to access the memory for its own number, which she wrote twice on two pieces of card.
“Here.” She handed the phone, the charger and one of the pieces of card to Jimmy, who was smoking a cigarette under the shelter of the portico. “I’ve written the number down for you as well, so you can give it the undertaker and the police.”
“Thanks.” John hefted the charger. “How much do I owe you?”
Meinwen shook her head. “Nothing. It was for a phone I don’t even have any more. Just useless clutter to me. You could get a new one for a few quid.” She gave him a smile. “I’m just glad it’s going to a good home. Waste not, want not.”
Jimmy laughed, his brown eyes reflecting the light and matching the exact shade on the tea cups she’d just stacked next to the sink. “Our mam used to say that.”
“Then she was a wise woman.” Meinwen stepped forward and held out her hand. “I shall see you this afternoon then, Mr. Fenstone.”
“Call me Jimmy.” He shook her hand. “All my friends do.”
“Then you can call me Meinwen.” His hands were rough, the inner edges of the fingers calloused and the mounts of Jupiter and Saturn-like miniature gobstoppers of hardened skin. Whatever they’d had him doing in prison had not been kind to him. “Is there anything you need before you go? Are you all right for money?”
“For a while yet, thanks. There was a few quid in the house and I’ve a post office account the police never got wind of.” He winked. “I just have to convince them I am who I am and I’ll have enough to tide me over until the dole comes through.”
“Would you like me to look out for work? You never know what you can come across.”
“That’d be kind of you, love, but I doubt there are many willing to give a job to an ex-con.”
“Nevertheless, I shall put the feelers out. I have a lot of contacts in town. I’m sure someone knows someone who wants someone.”
Jimmy looked out into the drizzle. “Easy for you to say.”
“Would you like an umbrella to borrow? You could give it back later, when I visit.”
He shook his head. “Thanks all the same, but umbrellas are for toffs and sissies. There’s never been a bit of rain that’s hurt me.”
“An admirable proclamation, albeit a damp one.” Meinwen took a step backward into the house. “Well then. I must get on.”
“Aye, as should I.” Jimmy turned his collar up and strode off toward the gate. He gave a final wave as he stepped through and then was gone. Meinwen closed the door thoughtfully. It would be interesting to investigate something again. She’d have to pull her collection of Agatha Christies out from under the bed to see if Monsieur Poirot could give her any tips.
She crossed to the house phone and called the police station. “May I speak to Detective-sergeant Peters, please?”
“May I ask who’s calling and what it’s in connection with?”
“This is Meinwen Jones. It’s about the suicide of John Fenstone.”
“That’s not a serious crime, madam. Can I put you through to the civil liaison officer?”
“I’d rather talk to Peters, if you don’t mind.” Meinwen took a deep breath and smiled. She could tell when someone was smiling on the other end of a telephone line. “I helped his wife give birth to their first child, you know.”
“Ah, I see. Just wait a moment then, while I see if he’s in.”
“Certainly.” Meinwen dropped the smile. She’d told a lie there. Only a little white one but still. The help she’d given Julie Peters had been more of the phone- for-an-ambulance variety rather than actually assist in the birth. She hadn’t even known it was the sergeant’s wife at that point either, just a poor woman’s water breaking in the pasta aisle at Sainsbury’s.
The line clicked and the woman returned. “Miss Jones?”
“Yes? Still here.”
“DS Peters isn’t in the office at present. May I take a message for him?”
“No, it’s fine, thanks. I’ll try his mobile.”
“I’m afraid we can’t give out an officer’s mobile number.”
“It’s all right. I have it.” Meinwen put the phone down, mentally kicking herself for not using his mobile number in the first place. She fetched her phone from the kitchen and found his name.
“DS Peters.”
“Sergeant? It’s Meinwen Jones, here.”
“Ah. I was expecting a call from you. I sent a lad round. James Fenstone?”
“About the death of his brother, yes. I wanted to ask you why it was ruled suicide.”
“I didn’t deal with the case myself, but I had a glance through the file this morning after he came in. As far as I’m aware it was an open-and-shut case. There was no sign of a break-in, nothing was missing and he’d taken a lot of trouble to give himself enough of a drop for